Yeshuah
by peanutbutter.waffle
Summary: What awaits her ahead is unknown territory, a trial that could very well lead her to yet another path of destruction. It could bring more death or better yet, her salvation. - (T/Z)
1. one

**Note:** Well hi, fancy seeing you so soon. I finally worked this mess out so I decided to upload it early. This story will not at all resemble any of the others I have already written, so prepare yourself. Please be aware that this story has not been planned ahead, I'm the type of person who works out the puzzle pieces as I go along so hopefully this story will make sense and if not, well at least I tried? This story takes place nine months after the summer but five months after 11x02 - I had to watch the episode for this and it killed me - so Ziva did indeed leave. This is AU as the only canon lines it follows is up to 11x02 because who watches the trash the show has become now? That means no Ziva clone - because ew - and Bishop...I hadn't decided on that one yet. Please do not expect daily updates on this story, because this chapter in itself worked me for four days. So we shall go for the weekly updates - groans. I know, I know. It's not fair, but to help my creative juices it has to be done. Anyways, do tell me if I should continue this - even if you are the only one who wants me to, I will just for you - because there is no point in me uploading if no one enjoys, si? If you hadn't come to the conclusion that this is a Ziva and Tiva story and that isn't your poison, I do not apologize and ask nicely for you take your negativity elsewhere. Also, I have no idea if there is another story out there like this one so if there is, I apologize and hopefully they won't be the exact same?

This chapter is considered overly-descriptive, written that way on purpose as I considered Ziva not one to reflect on the past while dealing with business.

 **Disclaimer:** Back in 2013 I really would have loved to have it, but they can keep the sorry excuse the show has now become. Oh, the mistakes are mine though!

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Yeshuah - Salvation

[one]

The sweltering sun scorched high above precipitating perspiration through the glands on her forehead, neck, armpits, just behind her knees, and various other areas that one would never believe could sweat. It was not unwelcome, of course, considering she was use to such weather actions and had, of course, faced far worse climates than the Australian heat that was only near around ninety six today - a nice break from yesterday's one hundred sixteen.

She embraced the heat, clung to it like the miscellaneous plants and animal life that were scattered about the endless orange plains and truly, if she hadn't been out wandering the unknown territory using only a single paper map in search of her cabin destination she probably wouldn't be here. In fact, she wouldn't be here but back... She scolded herself by drawing a dry tongue against the chapped layers of her lips, it was a rule to not think about what could have been, what should have been and here she was breaking it for probably the hundredth time today; the heat must really be getting to her.

As if on cue, a bead of the sticky substance aligning her forehead slipped down yielding the crunching of her black boots as the sweat rolled into her chocolate gaze. Immediately her dusty hand reached out, knowing any attempts to ease the sudden burn from her iris would be futile. Mercifully the stinging sensation all but came and went in a matter of five seconds allowing the brunette to heave a sigh of relief. It wasn't the first time sweat had clouded her vision, but in all honesty she could really do without the perspiration that had all but gradually been eating her away for the pass five days. The first three of which had been supplied by the roar of a crimson hued jeep that raced along the stria sand of yet another desert until, the inevitable happened and the blasted thing decided to run out of gas right there in the middle of nowhere leaving her stranded with her backpack of very minimum supplies and the clothes upon her back. It should have occurred to her on the first day to check with the clerk of the store who had offered her the jeep if he had tossed in another thank of gas but her mind hadn't been in it, too distracted with thoughts of this being the last mark on her list.

She drew her forearm along her forehead, collecting the beads that had transpired as her gaze narrowed along the horizon in search of her destination and quite possibly her last. The thought was almost enough to send a warm longingly feeling coursing throughout her very sore cords, almost. Each time she had thought it was the last only to be proven wrong with yet another bit of evidence to enhance her search which lead on over to it being nine months. Nine months without orange walls, loud music, head slaps, stories, jokes that are far from hilarious, computers, or bickering...the heat was really getting to her.

An exhausted sigh drew out of the woman as she extended her hand to curve along her brows to gaze up at the cloudless azure hued sky, just barely meeting the outline of the blazing ball of fire that was the cause of such heat and such sweating. Her tongue flicked fore and aft across her lips again as her left hand reached behind towards the coyote tan backpack in search of the canteen that was half-full of refreshing liquid.

Less than a minute later the replenishing aqua trickled down her esophagus, not as rapid as she would have liked knowing it would be best to preserve when her destination could very well be empty. A few short swigs and then the top was locked back in place, the canteen following the same action as she clipped it in it's earlier position: dangling by the key clip of the backpack. She straightened the strap, eyes narrowing just the slightest as she heaved a sigh and geared her feet into action.

The trail, which was not particularly an actual trail, was flat enough allowing her pace to quicken all the more as both heart and boots matched in beat with the silence all around. She had never minded the silence, in fact it was usually a sanctuary, but every now and again it just made her feel empty. Alone. It had been her decision to be all alone, to save others the pain. To save herself the pain. To stop hurting those she actually cared for...to stop hurting him. Her eyes closed as her memory clouded with sandy tufts, sea foam eyes that occasionally evolved to a deep cyan, a wide smile that melted her insides like chocolate, and an aching kiss that left her wanting more - she had _always_ wanted more.

Her eyes danced open just as her boot connected with a minuscule dirt caked stone that did nothing more than bounce her out of line for just a second before her stance fell back in rhyme; the perfect soldier. Strands of coffee brown slip passed her eyelashes upon the notion and she quickly reached out to straighten them behind her ear, the action as pointless as the thoughts of him. Him, who has probably moved on.

More sweat accumulated across her forehead and she paused in step to toss over her backpack in preparation for her to crouch down, knee pressed against the barren orange. The zipper was slid open and she quickly shuffled through six canteens - four empty, two full -, a pile of granola bars, several packages of powdered food, an extra map, matches, and finally the black head wrap that was quickly swiped from the bottom of the pack. She had known such an item would come in handy.

The pack was swung over her shoulders as she bowed her head, tossing her shortened curls forward. She made fast work of tying the strands in place so that the wrap would align her forehead and hold back her hair; hopefully, it would keep just a bit of the sweat from trickling down onto her olive toned cheeks.

Once more, the woman started forward keeping her eyes pointed straight ahead where, according to the map, her destination would come into view shortly. About an hour or two before the sun would start to fade in an explosion of oranges, pinks, and blues. Which would also give her some time to scourge the cabin to which she was headed towards - one she was not knowledgeable of, but that had been most of the well designed homes in various regions of the world that were scribbled onto her list. Uninhabitable homes, places no one had hardly dared to venture. Safe homes. Homes were no one would be discovered, the perfect hideaways.

Her tongue traced the corners of her mouth to gather even the slightest moisture that had long since disappeared the minute she eliminated the invigorating liquid provided by the canteen from her lips as her free hand that did not cling so roughly to the tattered paper map slipped into the folds of the cargo shorts that were caked heavily with orange dust. Orange, orange, orange. It seemed the color stood out far more than any of the others now-a-days. Perhaps it was the world's way of saying 'enough is enough stop this stupid mission'. She would, she most certainly would but the strength of doing such left her the minute a manila package was passed into her weary grip. A package that set the course of her life, a life she could never leave.

Or maybe she could, maybe this would finally be the end. This last home. Perhaps, this would be the denouement to her journey of desperation, fear, lost, longing, heartache, and all of the other emotional roller coasters that had sailed into her rocky, unstable shores for the pass three years. This could be the end. But even so, her hopes did not soar as her black boots scuffed along the desert terrain. The feelings in her heart, soul, and mind dissipated because she couldn't afford to think. Thinking had never led her to anything good, only destruction.

Heaving a sigh that exhaled and evaporated into the humid atmosphere that persisted in it's game of making her sweat beyond natural limits, nothing would make her happier than to get out of yet another trivial desert that could quite possibly scorch with more painful memories. Her lips pursed in response to such an idea, probably an invitation to the world around her to throw whatever it could spare her way. Whether it be dingoes, scorpions, snakes, terrorist, haunting family histories or whatever other critters that lived under the blazing ball of fire. As if to reassure her that she could protect her own self in such an event, her fingers drummed subconsciously along the barrel of her sig that had been embedded into her side the minute she started her journey - both the emotional and physical - for years now.

The weapon burned at her waist as the heat yet again reminded her of all she was missing, she really needed to stop. She really needed to concentrate on something else because fixing her gaze on a never ending horizon was not at all helping her state of mind. Her tongue flicked across her lips again as she bowed her head just a bit, hand jerking from her pocket to take hold of the other side to the wrinkled map. Chocolate irises absorbed every detail of the manila page that closely resembled a treasure map and was her momentary preservation with its lengthy angles, points, and an "x" that marked the spot as her boots continued to strike softly against the earthen floor.

The distraction was pleasant as she furrowed her brow trying to map out exactly how long it would take to reach her desired destination and she became so involved with connecting the dots that the memories just sort of tumbled back into their box where they have remained buried for the pass nine months on and off again. Mostly on, of course, because the pain of losing more people has long since left her hurting. The hurt she is aware of, even if she refuses to accept it. It is what it is and now it is in the past.

Her gaze narrowed just the slightest as her thumb traveled the path of a certain point where she was certain her own position was located due to the drift of the sun and the route of her travels. According to this, she should be right on it just about...now.

Chocolate irises raised up, a thin smirk claiming her features as she took in the distant speckle that only grew larger and larger with each boot in front of the other. Her skills of navigation are still intact as are all of her others. Which, of course, means the map found a home cramped into the depths of the pocket of her cargo shorts as she quickly armed herself with her trusty sig - the barrel full and ready to fire if needed. She cautiously drew her tongue along her lips as she raised her weapon and extended it forward; the act mundane but always enough to gear her heart into a rapid, anxious beat.

She is still far off from the cabin, but many years with various jobs have taught her that vigilance is the only option. What awaits her ahead is unknown territory, a trial that could very well lead her to yet another path of destruction. It could bring more death or better yet, her salvation. The irony that it greatly resembles her precarious life is not lost against the backdrop of the treading of her black boots, the orange sky, the orange desert, or her mind. She is well aware of such infliction, one she has come to terms with the second the loud roar sung it's melody of indifference followed by the symphony of tears and the aching feeling that never again would a touch mean so much.

Her thoughts drift away as the cabin meanders closer and closer to the point where she can take in all of it's features. The weathered shingles caked with dust, the tattered windows that cover in filth of having been long forgot, the outside walls that seem beaten from the heat, and the abused tank, of what is probably water. It looks abandoned, out here in the middle of the Australian desert were only few men dare tread. She is the exceptional woman.

Immediately her nerves tune in, bracing themselves for gunshots or voices. Anything and everything because she is no stranger to the unexpected especially out here where her past could very well collide in a single heart beat. She draws forward, taking great ease in her step as her chocolate gaze flutters along the small home as if waiting for the gunshot, explosion, voice, or mere whisper that will bring...bring what? Death? The thought doesn't send the same excitement as it did years past in a similar desert with different motive.

She reaches the doorway without a scratch, no bullets come flying and no bombs go off. Her bottom lip draws in as she re-positions her sig, preparing to pull open the rickety handle of the brass hued door. Her sharp breath is inhaled before being splattered out into the stuffy, humid heat as her hand comes in contact with the knob. Her heart thuds loudly, anticipation and anxiety feeling her silhouette against her desire to remain calm. She doesn't allow another thought to penetrate the acumen need to charge in head on.

 _Empty._

Emptiness is what welcomes her with a white flag, offering peace and recognition. No one is here. And while that should give her that extra push that things are finally done - she knows they are not because the folder wouldn't have been handed to her nor would she have forged a path of almost a years worth only to be here with nothing.

Her tongue glides her lips as she lowers her sig back encased in the band of her cargo shorts. She runs her fingers through visible tufts of coffee curls before pulling back the black head wrap, letting her hair cascade down and around her shoulders as she heaves a sigh. Of what, she is not sure but it feels comfortable to release a breath in the confides of a building and to truly mean the expulsion of carbon dioxide that has been a buildup of a long time in the making.

Her pack falls abruptly to the beaten floorboards while she takes a moment to absorb the one room with it's twin bed holding sheets that have never been used, a small kitchen set that is incarcerated with speckles of dust, the couch shrouded with a honey gold that glories in the visible rays of sunlight that sprout from the brown showered windows, and the small bathroom off to the side; equipped with not only a toilet or sink, but also a shower. She doesn't gather up her hopes about that though, no doubt the water will be churned a horrendous orange save that the tank out behind the cabin hasn't been touched by the elements.

She reaches for the pack, stumbling with muscles that suddenly ache to have just a moment of rest after two days of forcing the limbs into motion - the only rest granted then had been under the moon and even then it hadn't fulfilled such wishes of succumbing to sleep. Wearily, she lowers herself down onto the honey brown cushions, biting her lip as she sinks into it's depth of comfort.

She doesn't allow herself to wallow in such pleasantry as she pulls back the zipper and reaches for a canteen and granola bar, at just the glance of the treat her stomach had began to rumble with expectation and the reminder that the last time she had eaten had been at the crack of dawn when the sun was still just barely peeking out from its hideaway. The food was dry and gritty but filled her stomach with a rumble for more, more, more but she still hadn't checked around for supplies and their was no way she would risk a day of starvation just for a day of fill.

Once the wrapper had been crumbled and tossed back into her backpack, she reached for the canteen and drowned a good few swallows. The water rolled from the corner's of her mouth and down to her chin where it dripped off and onto her thin thighs. She would have swiped it away but it felt restoring so the notion was dismissed as she closed the canteen back into her pack with her tongue drawing a quick swipe against the sudden moisten lips.

She breathed out another sigh, stretching back with a yawn fully prepared to succumb to the sleep that had been neglected a short few months ago but she knew better. The cabin needed to be scanned first for food, water, and perhaps a possible lead. Olive toned legs stretch out before her baring the weight of ninety-five pounds with a somewhat wobbly percussion before straightening out with a steady gist as she heads directly towards the kitchen area.

The first cabinet gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she finds it to be empty and useless to serving a purpose, the second and third remain just the same. Dwindling her hopes in the process of squirming over just a step to peer into the fourth. A smile dawns her features as she takes in the glorious appearance of two cans of Lima beans and a jar of peanut butter. Not only is it a meal and a satisfactory aide but also evidence that someone has indeed inhabited these confides. Whether recently or not, she has yet to discovered but wastes little time in thinking on the matter as she gathers both components as if they are the sweetest chocolates.

They get flung towards the couch, all three landing swiftly against the cushions before she turns back to her inspection. The refrigerator creaks to life as she pushes back the dust stained door to the welcoming sight of not one nor two jugs of water, but three. Her mouth waters at the sight and she quickly takes one, tearing off the lid to drown a few good swallows of the freezing liquid. The access water is written off with a brush of her upper arm before slowly bringing the jug back into the shelter of the refrigerator, no point in taking the lifeline out for now.

She takes a moment to draw her tongue across her lips, head tilting to the side as she tries to deceiver how the fridge works way out here, far from any power lines but she decides not to dwell on it for now. Instead she turns back to her work and quickly heads towards the bathroom, hands itching feverishly to test out the water if she's lucky maybe, just maybe five days of desert heat will be able to swirl down a drain.

It's a tight squeeze between the toilet and shower, but luckily she is just the right fit to maneuver towards the obstacle and twist the knob. Orange. Orange murky water sprays from the shower head and she groans inwardly before twisting the knob back with a soured expression. So a shower wouldn't be in her favor, but at least she had something to eat besides the gritty bars and more water to quench her thirst long enough to get her back to the market place. She makes a mental note to later check for a tank of gas before she emerges out of the bathroom and starts for the bed; another destination she has been racing to scan.

The mattress is still intact, save for the dusty fumes that explode from it the minute she uses her hand to test the structure. But all is well, she has a bed for the night and maybe two if she decides to allow herself such a luxury. She yawns at the thought, her chocolate gaze drooping just the slightest as the weight of the last couple of months finally marks it's toll. Sleep right now, is a prize. A gift, that she would greatly accept but it has not been given in months and she suddenly dreads the time when darkness falls because it will draw on like all of the others: wide awake, staring at the ceiling and a feeling that none of this is right.

Her fingers strike through her curls, pushing them back on top of her forehead as she releases a sigh because she still has another good hour of sunlight and as much as she would like to just fade into the world of relaxation, her mission has not been foreclosed. She shakes the exhaustion away, a simple struggle in itself, before running her fingers along the walls. Her eyes take in every corner, every inch trying to find the emblem of her desire before the sun falls back into its hideaway.

Just as the sun settles, giving off just one thin line of light, her finger lands on five carves embedded in the farthest corner of the cabin. Her heart beat kicks up a notch, her olive toned finger tracing the marks with ease and precaution. This is it, her search. This is what she has come all of this way for, an inscription in the drywall caked with dust as the many inscriptions before were. She wants to deny its presence, its very existence to be shunned because the curves are not just simply curves but the fuel that ignites the gears in her mind. This isn't the end of her mission nor will the next stop be or the next stop because the inscriptions are simply new destinations, new travels that help fuel to the possibility of Eli David being alive.

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As I mentioned earlier do let me know if I should continue or not. In the meantime I wish you a pleasant day.


	2. two

As requested. I think updates will just come as I finish a chapter and hopefully you won't have to wait more than a week. I don't speak Hebrew so my apologizes if any of the wording was wrong, do blame the internet. I appreciate the fed and I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer? Nope.

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Yeshuah - Salvation

[two]

The indigo sky burst leaving her in the ever darkening shadows as her hand continued to forge the path etched in the wall; _dag_. Of all the things he could have offered her to better yet this mission it was the word fish.

Ziva groaned inwardly as she untangled her legs and leaned back against the faded drywall feeling all too exhausted. Not the sleep deprived kind - although partially that could very well be the case -, but the conflicting emotional kind because Eli had died and she had held his lifeless body. She had cried over it, she had taken revenge for it but now...now she wasn't so sure that he was dead. Not since that Saturday morning when she had been headed for a run, all too stressed with the toll of Gibbs' impending sentence, only to run into the mail carrier and to be handed a package that set all of this in stone.

There had been no return address just the package and its content; a single word in her native tongue, _bath_ , it had read. The Hebrew word for daughter. A shiver spent up her spine as she had gripped the piece of paper like it were a lifeline. The next destination had made sense: go to the family safe home. So she did, it was empty except for her brother's name and from there the other points drifted into play.

She didn't have time to think about how ridiculous it was or how it could very well be her own downfall until Mossad came knocking on the door, if they had known something she never did get a chance to discover before yet another momentum of the past collided into her domain with his sweet smile and charming eyes. That was when the decision was made that she could not return until she figured out the source of these endless clues that only brought her closer and closer to the possibility that maybe she hadn't held his lifeless body, maybe she hadn't cried over it or sought revenge for the father who had loved but never cared. It was absurd, she knew but she was the ever so obedient daughter who wouldn't back down no matter how far this went.

She needed to know the truth. What all of this meant and the only explanation, in her eyes, was that Eli David was alive. There was no evidence to prove otherwise aside from the autopsy report and the memories that kept alternating just to fit that one possibility. That one "what if...". She had never been one to reflect on such a thing especially one as meaningless as this, but in her heart a part of her knows that this is the truth because the second that package was within in her grip, the second it was all out, supplied right there in the open, her heart did a little " _thump thump_ " and it was like she was back in Mossad. Destined for only one path: death.

It was true, she most certainly could have asked for some sort of aide but a part of her just needed to do this alone even if it almost killed her to watch him board that plane. It was to do what she had always done for him and what he had always done for her; to protect him because if this thing made plans to go south, she would never forgive herself for putting him in harms way. So a story was invented, like the ones she had told Tali so long ago while nestled in their bed sheets or looking up at the starry night sky and she sent him away with her necklace. A promise to not only him, but for herself to end this. To stop this for _him_.

Ziva was aware of who he thought the "him" was and she was okay with allowing him to believe such a tale, it made things easier especially since she would probably never get to see him again. Nine months had already passed by and if death didn't get her first then time would, soon he would move on and find a woman who deserved his love. She would become nothing more than a memory and their memories would only be bittersweet of a love that never got to blossom, she was fine with that. It was the way it needed to be and so it was the way it was.

Parting from memories of him she allowed her focus to shift once more on the clue at hand, a relic of maybe the past? A story she had once told or heard? Something they had shared? Her fingers roamed through her coffee curls as she blinked in contemplation. The only fish she could honestly think of had been that one summer in Lanikai, Hawaii where her first mission had not went according to plan, but there was nothing else. No memories of him or with anyone for that matter, just herself lying in a pool of blood gasping for breath. Just barely hanging on until the medics arrived, that was all besides a very heavy lecture by the time she had finally pulled out of a drug induced coma.

Was that it then? Was she suppose to go on the other side of the world once more just to flip over every coffee table, couch, and bed in search of the next clue? As if the dispute rattling in her mind had been over before it even started, she lifted herself off the floor - which took far too much effort - and headed towards the bed. Even if sleep was pointless, she couldn't deny her limbs a temporary nights rest.

She faced the door, sig being drawn out from the holster at her waist and directly at her side for there was not a pillow. Using the fold of her arm as an improper cushion for the bridge of her neck the woman nestled down into the uncomfortable bed, listening to the creaks until it finally settled. Her chocolate orbs stayed fixed on the door as if expecting some being to come in, whether beast or man she wasn't sure.

. . . . .

"You don't look so good." Tim's voice quipped startling the senior agent who had been seated at his desk, trying to undo the sugar packet for his coffee in a rather frustrated manner much to the amusement of the other two occupants who couldn't help but to release a series of bitter laughter when the contents of the packet spilled, not only in the steaming cup but also all over the desk.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me." Tony groaned which settled out into more so of a yawn as he slammed his fist against the desk only for the mass space to release a thud followed shortly by what was perceived to be a whimper from the superior agent. Today was not his day and it would in no doubt only worsen with the passing of time.

Instead of responding to his colleague as was expected, Tony took the other route and busied himself with swiping away the crystalline particles, ignoring the looks of pure confusion and hesitation. He didn't even feel guilty for making the duo suffer, they deserved it after all for pointing out the almost bruised looking bags hanging just below his sea foam gaze that drooped in the unattainable quality of sleep. He was running on nothing but fumes and the heavily sugared beverage before him - exceeding the natural limit of twelve sugars and it was disgusting.

It was no mystery as to the cause of deprivation from the young man, her name was but one Ziva David who had left him pitifully broken...or that was what the goth downstairs had called it to McUnloyal and Bishop several weeks ago right before everyone disappeared for their various Christmas journeys, taken out of context or not he wasn't sure. He only knew what he had heard when taking the stairs had been a much better ultimatum then the elevator where so many memories were conjured up the second those heavy doors drew closed. If anyone asked, he just told them he was starting some new health kick - not entirely a lie because he had joined a twenty four hour gym and started going after work just to kill the painstaking loneliness that filled his apartment each time he crashed through those doors.

He really did sound pathetic, he knew but she had been his partner and almost lover...she was the woman who changed him because she didn't put up with the crap he tried to pull and he fell for that. Against all logic that such a relationship between so very different people couldn't work he knew she had been the one, they had just missed the opportunity of being together far too many times that the world finally decided they couldn't work through indifference and tore them apart for what would probably be forever.

Tony was no idiot, just because she gave him her most prized possession didn't mean she would come back. To expect her to would be like waiting for the race car his dad had promised him that one Christmas so many years ago when his mother was still alive, it never came of course and neither would she.

Subconsciously, he ruffled the tufts of sandy blond aligning his scalp when the sugar had finally been cleared away with a gentle flip into the trash bin; the act as mundane as this job where people never ceased getting murdered or finding themselves in an unavoidable bind. He could see why she wanted to leave it so desperately, he himself wasn't all too certain of what still held him in place because at this point in his life he had expected to be somewhere else whether that be personal or professional...he is almost too certain that both fill the blank and it only took losing her for possibly the hundredth and final time to discover that.

The only question is, however, how must he deal with such revelations? To quit his job would be a sin against his boss' hardened gaze and to chase after her one more time would be the ultimate death sentence. She has supplied him with nothing; no phone calls, emails, text messages, not even a sticky note saying "Yes, I'm alive". It wouldn't bother him so much if he didn't have such an aching feeling that something was wrong and it just wouldn't shake back from the direction whence it came. Often times he resolved to just let it gnaw against his cheek - figuratively of course as it was his teeth that did the actual chewing - until he had finally worked himself to the point of exhaustion but here recently, the feeling was only getting stronger and leaving him well passed the will to succumb in fretful dreams. Something was working in the shadows, this he was sure, if not about anything else in this suddenly messed up life, this was most definitely a given.

Tony reluctantly shifted his gaze back to the pile of cold cases suddenly realizing he had been staring all too determinedly at the youngest agent; it was her fault for sitting in that desk. His pencil drummed against the top drawer, the sanctuary of her procession, as he tried all too desperately to remember what he was suppose to be working on. The case files had been completed earlier by a determined senior agent who had arrived precisely at 0400 - earlier than anyone had even dared -, they hadn't had a case since Christmas - a pleasant break but creepy in its own way -, and as far as he was aware he didn't have any paperwork...had this been years passed he would have loved nothing more than to jump at the opportunity to catch his boss and beg for the rest of the day off especially when no case had navigated their way, but now the idea made him want to ask for more work.

Sea foam eyes flicker across the lonely squad room where fingers connect rapidly across keyboards who ache with the burden of such a common tread. His jaw clenches slightly as his gaze befalls upon the leader's desk where not even one case file takes residence, it is spotless and empty of the man having run off long ago. To where, Tony isn't sure, but an occasion has presented itself and gratefully he rises from the discomfort of the desk chair. The action draws two sets of questioning eyes, two arched brows. His answer is to nod as he takes the path towards the basement stairs, ages ago he would have offered them some response for his disappearance but too many things have changed.

The stairs are taken two at a time, the gentle thudding of his dress shoes brings little comfort in his expedition towards autopsy where he prays only Ducky inhabits. Not that he would mind Palmer being around, but the less gossip squad the better especially since Abby has made it her mission to "fix" him. He knows her intentions are sincere...or maybe not considering what he overheard, but either way he doesn't need to be fixed like some broken spring because he isn't broken, just hurting.

"Anthony!" The English gent greets from his position next to a body - no surprise there. "I was just telling young Corporal Matherson here about a rather ravishing lady I met over the holidays, she was quite the handful." The older man chuckled, eyes gleaming with a faint twinkle only for it to fan out as his expression faltered to a frown. "Please tell me you got some sleep, my dear boy?" His voice laces in concern as he pauses from his examination, fully prepared to put down the lancet in exchange for his predominate role he has taken over the course of nine months.

"Not a wink." Tony sighs, tapping his foot against the aluminum tiled floor. His hand slips into the folds of his pants, all too greatly wishing he had stowed away her necklace there. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Ducky." The younger man shifts his position, taking a few steps to fall into line with the single glow of the lamplight. "And I have this feeling that something is wrong..."

The medical examiner frowned, returning to his work as his very much alive patient spoke through gritted teeth - confessions were not easy for such a troubled, distant man. "When did the feeling start?" He ponders drawing the lancet across the decease's chest, feeling slightly guilty that such work could not wait until his friend was feeling better.

"Christmas." The struggle is evident, as if he can't find the breath to conjure up such a simple word. In reality, he can't it is all too hard to admit defeat. "It started Christmas morning." Tony clarifies drawing a momentary glance towards the deceased before turning away so that his gaze befalls on the lively listener.

"Anthony," Ducky's gaze widens just the slightest as he pauses from his work to lock their eyes. "It's February."

"Yeah I'm aware, thanks." The harsh tone is admitted; regretfully of course as his anger, frustration, and exhaustion isn't directed towards the only other soul who has comforted him since his partner's departure but out it comes without any do overs. Thankfully, the examiner takes little notice or rather doesn't mention his tone, as the older man proceeds with his work of sculpting his way into the decease's chest cavity. "Sorry," Tony feels reason to apologize as his fingers run through his tufts. "I haven't slept in days, Ducky...I barely eat because the food doesn't taste good and this job...it sucks." It's the first time the words have poured from his lips and into the air, but in the very next moment he cannot help but to thank of what a relief it is to finally admit such grave details.

Ducky's brow arches just the slightest as pools of blue narrow in their search of the corporal's body. "It sounds like to me, my dear boy, that you are depressed." The man straightens up again as his head tilts to the side, brows knitted together in worry. "Perhaps, you should take a few days off? Go on vacation?"

"Aha! Great idea, why did I think of that?" His sarcasm drones with that unfamiliar ring which materialized the moment he climbed the stairs to that airplane, fate handing him nothing more than a necklace and the sweet kiss of this is the end. Truly, he has thought of taking time off. If not for himself then for the team who constantly demand his state of mind and physical condition but such a thought is always dismissed with the response that there will only be more time to think about what can't be and what should be.

His fingers run along the stubble of the day from having forgotten to shave the night before and earlier before coming in to work. He knows his tone is nothing but cold and is greatly thankful that Ducky, the one who is least deserving of such trade, has yet to make him feel guilty for his ways. "I just...need some sort of distraction."

"Very well," The older man winks, pointing towards one of the head cushions with that same twinkle from moments past in his gaze. "I will tell you about Rita Salmons -" The story teller began only to be cut off by the senior agent's chuckle.

"Was she the call girl you met in Rio?" A mischievous smile claims his features as he climbs up onto the unoccupied icicle autopsy table.

"Anthony, be careful who you tell that story too...my prime years were quite the journey." Ducky beamed, returning to his work as he drifted off into the "this reminds me of that time" mode, completely forgetting to start the tell of the mysterious Rita Salmons who will in no doubt make an appearance in his latter exchanges. The distraction is enough for now, he believes as he settles as comfortably as possible, but the feeling is still there.

. . . . .

The sunlight trickles in through dust framed windows resembling the subdued flakes that always fell in a city known as home during the wintry nights and she could recall such events of years past where she had sat out, face pressed against the glass like an eager child soaking in the cold that her fiery skin could never seem to get enough of with his jacket or perhaps a borrowed blanket drooped along her shoulders. While she was captivated by the flakes he had been captivated by her.

Toes curled, giving off a trusted 'pop' as the joints sprang from their holds only to settle back with much less build of stress but not nearly enough of an inch less of exhaustion. Sleep had been scarce much like the many other nights from the moment she folded herself onto the creaky mattress expecting nothing above waking nightmares of Ari, Saleem, her father dying, and the newest bonus that had decided to accompany her travels several months back right after he boarded that plane, the terrors of him being killed and her not being able to save him. Even if he was not her's, and had never been her's, to save.

A yawn bled out into the already heated atmosphere as she groggily lifted her frame from the bed, which groaned along with her limbs in protest but the day - even if it was barely even dawn - did indeed need to start. She prepared herself with a brief stretch, giving a few needed sighs when the joints gave their signal of contentment, before heading towards her pack that still remained on the couch and she was only two steps towards her destination when the goosebumps began to rise along her arms and neck in thin ripples.

She made a quick dash for the pack, flinging it onto her shoulders before jerking at the handle of the entrance to the small room that had housed her for the night and raced off into the heat. Her heavy breaths soon following in tune to an all too familiar crunch - although it was faster - of her boots. The goosebumps continued to ridge her flesh, spanning farther and farther with each step colliding with orange terrain. Her heart beats quickened, matching in sync with the anxiety that was filling her chest because she was being pursued and only a selected few would dare travel this way, none of which signaled good intentions.

Her sig bounced against the flesh of her thigh as if reminding her that she was not completely defenseless, even without the weapon she wouldn't be considering all of those years of training but not just anyone would scope out the barren Australian desert just for her and there was only one logical reason that came to mind for such an event that one would track her down in the middle of nowhere. The outcome? Not good, but she no plans are made to go down without a fight.

Lungs burn in demur as she continues to sprint but she can feel the need to pause and catch a break so she slows her pace, head angling over her shoulder as her chest heaves out a sigh due to the emptiness in her tracks; no one has followed, perhaps she was just being paranoid? No, she has never made such a mistake before and certainly would never, even if her judgments are clouded.

Her boots scruff along the terrain as panting breaths fall into the heated atmosphere, swirling in the particles of life and death feigned only in desert air. All of her muscles tense, high alert because the threat - even if she has one suspicion - has not been determined nor made an appearance. She doesn't expect whoever is after her to give up the chase so easily, in fact she can almost bet they will come after her and the only thing she can hope for is to be long gone by that point. To where? She hasn't decided although Hawaii is the most probable destination, maybe there she will finally gain the answers she so desperately needs or better yet, maybe she will find the source of the messages. The thought, while satisfying is highly unlikely because knowing her father, he has not made whatever has been planned easier. Just like always, she will have to earn whatever awaits.

It's a car engine shutting off that draws her attention from her thoughts and into the reality where the cause of goosebumps upon her flesh stare her eye to eye. It is exactly who she expected, no surprise riddles her features that remains neutral and calm. She doesn't speak a word as her chocolate orbs watch the doors fall open producing well fitted men with fine tailored coats - not as fine as Armani. They are unfit for a desert, their nice forms seemingly out of place as they position themselves, guns high in front of her; soldiers who only live to hear one word.

The word that never falls from the commander's lips who is the last to draw out of the vehicle with a smirk plastered causing high cheeks bones only to widen all the more. Ziva would scowl in disgust if she could, she would point out each and every one of their unnecessary precautions of twelve gunmen, but she cannot truly blame Mossad from taking measures to ensure death will not bestow upon their colleagues and if she wasn't so pissed right now, she would very well be starting the gunfight.

* * *

Hopefully that wasn't too boring, but it did move the plot along... The team is "mean" for a reason which will be discussed later. I wish you all a pleasant day.


	3. three

Well, hi. This would have been out sooner if life hadn't kept getting in the way and if I hadn't kept questioning to continue with this story or not [mostly because I am trying to keep everyone sane], but I'm sure you know how that goes. I'm going to try to get at least two, if not more, chapters up before the end of the week because I just learned that I will be going away next week and there will be no internet to upload unless I can slip away to a Starbucks or something but since I don't have a license that might not be possible, on the bright side I should have a lot of time to write in between that week so the possibility of getting more than two chapters when I return is high - no promises though. I appreciate the reviews/favorites/follows and I am grateful that you all are enjoying it thus far, hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint.

Disclaimer? I'm good.

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Yeshuah - Salvation

[three]

" _Shalom, Ziva._ " The words are issued in Hebrew falling from curved lips that angle into a tender spun smile with a gaze that strikes at being infallibly pure.

A shudder seeps up her spine as her expression remains neutrally inseparable in a struggle to stay calm because the past, which she had thought was in the _past,_ is literally right before her wearing an all too genuine smile even if the other woman has a team of twelve pointing guns at the ex-officer as if it is their duty to take her down when she poses no threat, although, if the circumstances were any different she probably would.

" _You are a hard one to find._ " Orli recites before barking out her command for the men to lower their weapons which happens almost simultaneously. " _We have been looking for you since the American holiday...Christmas, I think that is the name?_ " She steps closer, hands held up for but a moment as if to promise she is not here as an enemy. Which begs the question as to why the woman is here, as far as Ziva is aware no one else knows about this mission or the possibility of the outcome.

" _How have you been, Ziva?_ " The Director of Mossad questions, head tilting towards the side as if hinting regard for honest concern but Ziva will not take the bait, remaining adamant and only responding to such a question with a simple blink. She has not a voice to speak at the moment, only willing to hear what needs to be said from the people who just can't seem to leave her alone to "soul search" as the tale goes. But then again, Mossad has never left her alone even when she quit several years back to forge a new path for herself that was suppose to be enlightening, a cleansing of the person she had been before that African desert. Her father messed that up for her not once but twice and there is an aching feeling in her chest, relatively small, that it will become a third no matter how hard she tries to stop it.

" _Should I_ switch to English?" A smile comes around as the other brunette transitions to the adopted language, lips pursing in a slight smirk before falling short as she clasps her hands before her. "What are you doing out here, Ziva? And do not give me that soul searching crap you gave your American boyfriend for you are not only Eli's daughter but Rivka's." At the mention of her mother's name fist clench at her sides causing several guns to be raised, fingers not at all hesitating to rest upon the triggers. Their eyes flicker in unison, testing the waters long after their commander supplies them with the words to back off but ultimately they give in because soldiers never fall against orders.

Her teeth lock together, tightening out a jawline for Orli has no right to speak of her mother much less her "American boyfriend". It is the only action she has provided other than the constricting of fist and taking in oxygen only to blow it out in carbon dioxide allowing the thirteen to know very well that she is alive, but the latter action of teeth chaining as one prompt the additional woman to nod in understanding of the mistake that has been made. "I am sorry," The commander apologizes in sincerity. "I was out of line as I always seem to be with you, forgive me?" Acorn dappled brow raises in question hoping to seek pardon of an unseen sin that does not go excused of chocolate irises that glare premeditatedly.

"Right." The breath falls out into a sigh as the wind passes by ruffling a few strands of curls, waves, tufts or hues of mauve to wheat and charcoal persistent to win the battle of lacing on a few particles of sand to olive toned flesh in an uproar of victory. Irises are shielded by not only palms but by the closing of thin folds in protection against the sudden draft that dissipates the following second it forms. For a brief moment she considers running with such a distraction held present, she would not get very far but the opportunity had stood only to falter and sway before demolishing right before her eyes; another chance she did not take.

Orli's stance shifts as she comes forward, hands working upwards to cross at her chest keeping professionalism all the high. "Tell me, Ziva. We can help you." What angers Ziva the most about such a statement is that Mossad believes that she would ever want their help after everything, but another thread of irritation is the product of them thinking she is up to something which directs the risk that tracks have not been covered and precautions have not been met.

At every bus stop, airport, taxi ride, restaurant, occasional bar, hotel, and any other convenience to meeting needs have all been priced in cash so where was her mistake? Did she spill something out in the open? Breathe the wrong sentence out into the air? Chocolate irises meet the concerned gaze of the woman who ruined her family, the marriage that held her parents together when fighting got too rough only for the last quarrel to break them like her bones were broken in Somalia but one never mended. Perhaps, and only by one little substance does she allow the belief to hold possibility that maybe, just maybe Orli or Mossad know something that has not bashed it's presence for the rogue.

Now is the time to speak, Ziva believes as her fingers untangle themselves from the little balls assembled by bare thighs caked with orange powder. What is to be said, however is the next problem to cross the valley of torments, revenge, sanctuaries, insecurities, pain, and guilt. The level of intensity for restraint of words that are likely to blow is unknown if to fall from her lips and it would be best to try remaining calm even in such a situation as this. She cannot promise the words will be stable and smooth, that they will not lash and cause verbal harm therefore, she votes for staying silent ready to see how far Orli will take a conversation in which she is the sole speaker who demands answers as Ziva does, but she knows such a thing will not gain her what she needs so with a rather sharp emittance of irritation she finds herself speaking.

"I am out here finding peace." She shrugs with a raspy huff, somewhat surprised when her own tone falls out composed and she can lean back faking relaxation where it hasn't been placed for months. "I do not think the Mossad can help me find inner salvation." Muscular organ falls out, flicking fore and aft across dry lips before sliding back in through the dark cave behind such closings as she takes the sudden silence to pinpoint the exact perplexity burned in the Director's facial appearance but also the judgment that truth is not being told which means the game must be upped. "I enjoy the wilderness, but Israel does not have the same wildlife."

"No," Orli chuckles, shaking her head but by the breath baring the words it is distinguishably noted that she does not and will not buy the lies. "I would not say we do," The corner's of her lips twitch into a flat smile as she uncrosses her arms heaving a tight sigh. "But that is not the reason you are out here is it? You can trust me, Ziva."

Tossing out the exact issue knits Ziva's brows together as she swallows back the vile that threatens to explode, to remain calm will get her the information she needs without spilling such secrets. Trusting someone with such a burden of her father's life matters was dismissed the second she realized no one would be grateful if he were alive, not even herself who has taken the exclusive responsibility of seeing to his fate. To trust another with such information would not only harm her, but quite possibly all of those around her - all of those she cares so deeply for.

"I am not up to anything, Orli, what makes you think that I am?" Her index finger catches between the two chains of teeth, nibbling upon the clear tip in nervous frustration. Why Mossad cannot just accept such details is forever beyond her acknowledgment but hopefully someday they will rise to such a challenge and carry it with the utmost respect. She understands Orli's hesitation on the subject of the matters she is allegedly processing through, in fact it is wonderment that the Team bought it but then again those were the worse moments that they had ever experienced with her, Mossad has had the honor of true destruction from the bomb blast that obliterated her sister from existence but not from memory.

On cue, her finger leaves her mouth and falters to her chest hoping to clasp the single locket that is the exact replica of a sixteen year old's who wore the original as a good luck charm except for on that fateful day when it was abandoned on Ziva's bedside soon to wrap it's way around her neck and stay in place until Somalia cursed the golden chain and star against the piles of dirt and blood forgotten there forever but not forgotten by a gentle, charming smile the Christmas of her return where family stood strong...hard to believe such things had changed. She doesn't find the necklace, of course, considering the item has long since found a place of belonging with the gentle and charming smile but the action does not go unnoticed by the few before her.

"I know Eli's death was hard for you, Ziva, but you cannot expect me to believe that you are out here finding yourself." Orli persists gaining a few more steps closer, but still an even nonthreatening distance as if she is talking down a suspect who is either about to harm themselves or those around them. "Share with me, Ziva, let me help you." A brief of pain floats across the Director's facial structure causing Ziva's brow to furrow all the more in question of what is actually going on here, what Mossad actually knows.

"I am here visiting a few places where...Eli and I went." She stutters upon his name drifting from her lips, while the thoughts of him have been high it is the first time she has called him to name out loud in a matter of months and it sends a slight shiver - even against the rising heat - up her spine. "I wanted to see the kangaroos once, he promised he would take me so we came but we did not see any kangaroos." Traveling the distance to see the kangaroos was a lie because Eli had been far too busy with work to govern a vacation with his family, instead he had brought home a picture of the creatures promising that one day they would make the destination. That had been before training began, before she had become a soldier and it had been nice to actually hear one of her dreams become a promise instead of being shot down like so many before.

"I do not picture you as an animal lover." The other's lips purse in contemplation before she throws her hands up in a signal of defeat. When the limbs collapse back at her sides she shakes her head, gaze holding nothing but honest concern. "There have been rumors...your life could be in danger, Ziva." The news fires up but little unease, her life has always been danger no matter what corner was to be turned and she would have been a fool to think this mission would not grow dangerous but the rumors, that is another story.

"What sort of rumors?" Ziva's gaze narrows just the slightest to get a better read on the woman before her who could very well be playing the rogue as many have done before and will in no doubt happen again. To trust Orli after all that has happened could quite possibly ruin her more than anything else thus far has.

"Rumors." The Director shrugs as if the one word sentence is enough to keep the Israeli born accommodated, but the sudden glare she is sent tells the other woman that she is indeed wrong prompting her to rest palms against the arch of her hips. "That one of our ex-agents has been...meddling where it is not needed nor wanted and that if it does not stop they will be harmed." Orli clears her throat followed by the pursing of lips expecting a look of shock, surprise, unease, horror, disbelief, or even the briefest exchange of Ziva's neutral expression for a look of indecisiveness whether to tell or not to tell the status of business that is most likely occurring without anyone else's knowledge.

Ziva remains impassive, running a quick brush through coffee curls holding out for the most appropriate time to answer the Director's unasked question. "I have been traveling, looking for peace. I do not think that by going from country to country my life will be put in danger aside from muggers and of course Mossad agents who cannot leave me alone." The tone is snappy now, frustration becoming evident because she truly is tired of this discussion that has gone nowhere for Orli but has gone everywhere for herself.

"Very few people believe that, Ziva. I just really hope you do not fool yourself into believing that you are safe because even if you are not up to anything, Eli has many enemies who will not hesitate to cause you great suffering all because you are his daughter." Orli's jaw tightens at the mere thought and if Ziva had not been looking for a read she wouldn't have caught it. The make of it, however, is not something she allows herself to reflect upon because this is the woman who ruined her parents marriage and sent Mossad officers after her not once but twice, right now all Ziva wants is to be alone like she has been for the past five months because even if it is slightly comforting to be surrounded by people she would rather be alone then neighboring the path that almost killed her more than the appropriate amount.

"It does not matter what people believe, it matters what is the truth and if people come after me whether that is you or some errand boy for some enemy of Eli, I will not hesitate to kill them no matter if I am trying to move past that. Is that clear?" Vocals remain unnervingly calm as her point slices through the scorching atmosphere, striving to break through the stubborn walls of Mossad's teachings. The truth is there, standing firmly and tall she is not afraid to kill even with five months of that absence, even if people believe she is working through the pain caused by a broken heart and a damaged soul who was taught to kill or be killed.

She straightens her frame, digging her chocolate orbs into Orli's as if that final decision will be the last to leave either of their lips. Ziva will not take another pass, she is done and with a final glare she pushes passed the thirteen and strides across the sands with the pace that has been nothing but steady for five days.

" _You still do not believe her?_ " One of the brutish men on the commander's right questions as they all watch her disappear from sight. The older woman can feel her mens uneasiness and she can't contain the smile that graces her features because these men have only heard the stories, the adventures but never met the woman whose tales of survival still reign high throughout the headquarters halls.

" _Never believe Ziva David, no matter how high your trust for one another stands._ " Orli crosses her arms to align her chest again, slanting her position for a brief moment as the speckle that is the Israeli born disappears from sight. " _Bring me my phone and set up the laptop, we have tribute to pay._ "

. . . . .

It was a brief rush of adrenalin, the slightest sweating of palms as a finger drew out taking position and fully prepared to hit a home run, score a goal, achieve a touchdown with the single paper ball resting a top the finished pile of evidence folders assigned to help their current case. It's target was but one and his gaze was locked hard on the bull's eye of the junior agent's nose. It had taken a full nights rest to actually feel up to sporting a round of tossing or rather flicking paper balls at his colleague and it was the first time in months such a gift had been granted that he decided to take full coverage of such event and actually pretend that he was okay because if Tony had to go one more day of listening to the singeing sympathy of those very few he interacted with on a daily basis he would quite possibly go insane.

Not that he probably wasn't already because what forty year old sits at his desk preparing to launch a paper ball attack on a man who had been in nothing but good spirits since they finally got a call for a case around lunch time and had been busy ever since trying to track down the killer of a twenty one year old marine which wasn't following all too smoothly but then again, Tim was pretty much working on the whole thing alone since Bishop disappeared sometime ago.

His finger lined up again drawing back to settle at the curve in his thumb making a slight 'o' shape, he was fully prepared to flick it out of the park when a rough calloused hand struck the back of his skull making him wince and jolt up in his chair, feigning innocence as his gaze settled upon Gibbs who was giving him an amused look. "Don't you have work to do, DiNozzo?" The older man gave him a pointed look, bringing a cup of steaming black coffee to his lips.

"Yeah, boss but I don't have any leads." Tony sighed giving a half-smile in hoping to rise upon good terms because for the moment he was himself, there was no feeling of something terrible about to fabricate in midair and he had actually gotten some sleep before the case had been called in which was an excellent plus considering his dreams had been free of psychotic brothers, caffeine drinking terrorist, overbearing fathers, and all the other demons they had faced together.

"I see." Gibbs grunted, opting for another swallow of his poison while giving the senior agent a quick once over before breathing out a heavy sigh. "Why don't you go home? All of you. Get some sleep, can't perform when exhausted." The silver haired man gave a swift nod before turning towards the elevator doors to take his own leave completely ignoring the looks of perplexity on his team member's faces.

Tony flicked the paper ball into the trash can, running a palm over his sandy tufts as he breathed out a sigh. He wasn't willing to go home even if the feeling of trepidation was gone, his apartment was still forever lonely... maybe the gym would be a welcoming sight; do a quick run on the tread mill, lift some weights, and maybe even go for a swim in the indoor pool. It wasn't the most pleasant idea, but it was by far better than going home and getting drunk over the things that can't be.

Palm does a brief stroke over his face, massaging the muscles that remain tense long after the gesture has taken place, he isn't physically exhausted but emotionally? He is on the verge of having a break down even if he can cover it up from those around him. He blows out a sigh, spinning in his chair to watch as McGee gathers his things; bag, gun, coffee in the same order that always occurs.

"You going to go home and play some video games?" The senior agent draws out, gaze narrowing just the slightest in question as McGee straightens himself out and turns to face him.

"Yeah." The younger man sighs as if awaiting some sort of jab for his nighttime antics, but the only thing that comes is a nod and the opening followed by the closing of Tony's mouth as if he is trying to say something just to shake it off with a shrug. "Go on." Tim rolls his eyes, arms crossing against his chest to grip the fabric straps. "Just make whatever joke it is you have to say."

"I wasn't going to make a joke..." Tony trails off as the phone on his desk begins to ring, his hand reaches out preparing to capture it but knowing that first he must complete his conversation with the additional man. "I was just going to say that maybe you should go out...try to find a nice girl and have your happily ever after." He tosses Tim a short smile before bringing the phone to his ear. "This is Very Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo." It doesn't have the same ring that once bellowed across the squad room in that sing-song cheery stride, instead it falls flat coming out as if it is a mundane saying that will never again become fun.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, you have a call in MTAC." Vance's secretary informs causing Tony's brow to furrow just the slightest. Who could be calling him? Especially this late.

"Any idea who it is?" He ponders frowning just the slightest as only one person comes to mind.

"The Director of Mossad, she says it is urgent." It takes everything he has not to drop the phone from his shaking grasp.

Suspicions have been confirmed and he isn't all too certain he will enjoy this outcome.

oOo

Hopefully that didn't disappoint you too much, I wrestled with many ideas on how to write out this chapter but all in all I think this was the better route to go [because faking Ziva's death wouldn't have went well with either of our favorite duo]. For those who were wondering, yes they will be reunited soon because it can't be a Tiva story if there is no Tiva, but whether they take well with being back together shall remain a mystery until it actually happens. Have a pleasant day!


	4. four

Sadly, I fear this might actually be the only one you get before I disappear for the week which makes me feel pretty bad but what can one do? I appreciate the support on this guys, you don't even know how much it means. This chapter is longer than the others due to the reason mentioned above.

Disclaimer? - Should I have one?

* * *

Yeshuah - Salvation

[four]

The black device wobbles in his grasp as the conflict inside his mind challenges the current and rises up above the surface. He can think of only one reason as to why Mossad would be calling him, he can think of only one woman whose tears fell from her ducts and onto those olive toned cheeks. Whose laugh radiated even through the pain, heartache, and goodbye. Her smile illuminating her features in such a way amidst the tears that it took everything he had just to turn around, just to walk away like she wanted him to. For her, he walked away and now - even if the thought had often crossed his mind - he cannot help but to wonder if that had truly been the last time he would ever see her.

His jaw clenches as he exhales the breath he had been holding, the tightness swelling in his throat only expanding in mass as he struggles to brace himself for impact while his body locks into place making the journey of sinking into the fine leather desk chair all the harder. What if she's dead? Why wasn't he there? Why didn't he protect her? If she's gone, there is no possible way he will come back from it. Losing her once and thinking she was dead was hard enough, losing her twice because she wanted to be free nearly killed him, and losing her the third time? His breath catches in his throat as his heart kicks up a notch, the gears spinning faster and faster preparing for the attack of it breaking all over again.

"Oh, God." He pleas, striving to channel his heart rate because there is a possibility that Director Elbaz just wants to catch up, just wants to make sure he is hanging in there. _Yeah right._ The technical gadget crumbles from his hold, falling to the floor only to bounce back up by the spiraling cord that will never let it go. He _should have_ been that cord, he _should have_ held her and _never_ let go. What was he thinking?

Ears ring, heart pounds, eyes get this really watery fill, and a palm runs along the outer flesh of his neck intending to reduce the intensifying compression of the darkening red walls. What did he do to deserve this? Or better yet, what didn't he do? She was right there, her eyes pleading for him to stay and he shouldn't have listened to her voice even if she would resent him for it. "Gone." The word chokes out into the abandoned orange room, at the computers, stairs, elevator. It breathes out to the memories, to the feeling that went away. That should have been his hint, right?

He isn't aware of the middle agent shaking him, calling out to him as he pales and freezes matching in symphony with the trumpet blaring in his ears and the drumming of the only thing keeping him alive. In past years he had always joked about her being the death of him, whether that be from a paper clip, her own free will of pulling the trigger or digging a blade into the soft tissue of his chest cavity, but never did he think that she would be the death of him from her own entanglement with the grim reaper in which she lost.

 _It can't be real_. He shakes his head fighting against the convulsions that wrack his body - sobs that never churn into tears. Fingers reach out, striving to grasp anything - just something that will help him breathe and not feel this uninvited pain. The thread of black locks between two identical bends, the cotton suit covering the middle agent is clung to like a lifeline as Tony expels another breath trying to gain control if that were ever to be possible in such a time as this.

He clamps his hands on the suit jerking the additional down to his level as he chokes on the oxygen that impales his lungs. What kind of sin did he commit that lead him to this? His mind doesn't wander just thinks of her; smiles, laughter, teasing, bickering, and that one kiss - one sweet kiss that should have led to thousands more. "She's dead." Words croak out into the air, strangled by his raspy tone, the truth igniting flames throughout his very form; he will kill everyone responsible. Another truth, but it does not serve the slightest cure as his hands fumble against the cotton jacket that wrinkles in his grip.

"What's going on, Tony?" Tim's voice breaks through the clouded darkness just barely - just the slightest and it rings high in not only confusion, but worry. To hell if he would ever tell this man what had happened, the man who couldn't even call her by name. The man who made fun of a broken heart and wouldn't hesitate to run off and blab this news to Abby. Ziva David was not news, she was not the thing people should gossip about. She deserved more respect. The thread is unsheathed, perishing back to wrap around the other man - settling back into place like he had hoped things would have gone today now such a thing is forever stored in the sections of "what if". What if she isn't dead...

His tongue runs along his lips as he straightens himself, breaths slowly falling to an even stance when his tie is jerked and sorted aligning along his thorax in a vertical fashion. It takes all he has to finally contort his facial expression of too many disarranged emotions for a neutral impression. An inhalation of breath follows through with sea foam irises that raise up to meet spinning pools of green. "Sue's teacher, Brenda. She's...she's dead." He forces a grin upon tight features. "Oh, I better tell her. No, no, no. I can do it. Sue? Yes? You know your teacher, Miss Brenda? Yeah. She's dead! Aah! Gone forever! Died a horrible, painful death Gone, gone gone just like your dog. My dog's dead? I just ran him over with the car when I drove in! Everyone around you is dying!" Palm meets thigh in a loud clap of applaud for his Oscar winning performance of the cover up that simply causes Tim to roll his eyes which is not to be blamed for its the first time in nine months a movie quote has faltered passed his lips and he is a tad rusty. "Scream three, I've never really been fond of the movie."

"You are so immature, I seriously thought something was wrong." _If only he knew._ The younger man runs his hands over his black laced jacket, smoothing out the features with a shake of his skull. "Same old, Tony." An attachment of happiness leaps into his voice as he reaches for the fallen bag at his side and Tony can't help but to wonder what it is exactly that is suppose to be happy in such a moment. "Goodnight." Another shake of his head rears in suit as he starts for the elevator only to pause half way to turn back, a slight smile highlighting his features. "It's good to have you back, Tony." _Far from it,_ He wants to bark but settles for a mumble of 'night as he watches his colleague disappear through the gray doors.

When they close shut and the little box starts it's descent, Tony finally allows the breath to exhale as a pang of guilt washes over him. The three of them had always been together, the three musketeers who stood by anything. Oh how times had changed. His jaw locked, tightening all the more until the point that teeth could quite possibly shatter - the point when he decided to finally lift himself up from his seat and head rather slowly towards MTAC.

To say he was dreading this conversation where the Director would tell him of Ziva's fate was an understatement. In fact, all he wanted to do was run, perhaps even board a train or plane to the fastest route out of Denver, or rather, Washington DC. It was a cowardice thought, he knew but to be told that she was dead a second time...fist clench at his sides as he rounds the flight of stairs taking a slow pace as his dress shoes echo against the deserted building, albeit the janitor whose cart announced its wear.

The end of the line has neared as he reaches the eye scanner, palms perspiring all the more as his gaze focuses on the sky light high above searching out for the God he rarely cries out to. "Look, I know this isn't really the time to ask for such a thing..." Fingers rustle through strands of sandy blond in a nervous system. "But if there is anyway you are willing to let her be alive...I don't even care if we never get to see each other again, but please...please let her be alive. You and I both know that I won't be able to handle her death again...I know you have a will and all of that which you're kind of working towards in this crazy messed up world but please, please I know this is the worse thing I could ever ask from you...but please don't let that be in your will. Anything but that." Hand falls limb at his side, digging into his pocket as he remembers the need to have her necklace with him but he has kept the Director waiting long enough.

"Just please and Amen." The words would be inaudible to anyone within range, but there is not a doubt in his mind that the big boss man - the official, official - heard his plea because the preacher when he was younger always talked about silent prayers and he mutely makes another that his gets answered right before sea foamed iris hovers against the scan. There is a click and he grips the handle, tight as if it holds hope or luck.

He takes the ramp quickly, spying Director Elbaz's face that lightens as he falls into view - a good sign he believes. "Special Agent DiNozzo, I was getting worried. I hope my urgent message did not cause you distress?" _If only she knew._ The question is breathed out with a tilt of the woman's head, eyes carrying an uncaught emotion and he curses Mossad's teachings for not being able to read the message of the expression.

"Uh, no. Sorry I had a few things to catch up on." Not entirely a lie, but not the honest truth either and as far as he is concern she won't ever know about his panic attack. His head does a quick nod towards the technical man, the gesture sending the short agent to his feet and towards the door leaving Tony alone with the woman on screen. It takes him a moment to gather himself after the clicking signals the exit, if Elbaz minds she never does comment as he finally turns to face her.

"You said it was urgent?" The tone of worry ignites in hope, burns in a slight plea, and laces in needing answers it doesn't matter how hard he tries to pass it off. For the first time in his life, he could care less of someone seeing him vulnerable especially if what he believes is about to be told is what is told because if those words leave her mouth, absolutely no one will stop him from breaking down. Absolutely no one will stop him from getting revenge.

"Yes," Throat is cleared as she runs her hand through lengthy brown strands, gaze momentarily being caught by something off screen and that is when he catches that she is not in her office, nor even a building but outside, in a desert, to the middle of nowhere and suddenly he is banking on hope. "Have you happened to have any rumors concerning your favorite director?" A sly smiles carves her features at the result of his expression alternating sour.

Did she really have to bring up Eli? Was that what this was about? And not Ziva...Ziva who was out soul searching and being distant. He should have guessed for such a mention of her would've been a long shot. "Rumors?" His lips purse together as his fist jam themselves into the black pits near his thighs. "Can't say I have...mind telling me why you ask?" Perturbation seeps the gentle notes as his brow raises in question because Eli equals Ziva and if rumors are floating about that could quite possibly lead him to her.

Would he even take it? The opportunity to chase after her all around the world again? Just to what...say "hi"? She made it clear she didn't want him, _unfair_ , she made it clear that she didn't want to come home with him. He shifts his position, uncomfortable with his own thoughts because: yes, he would chase after her again. Whether that made him sound pathetic or not, this was the woman he had know for eight years. The woman who took everything he knew and shredded it much like that time she took his favorite sock and used her scissors to demonstrate what she could very well do to very sensitive body parts if he continued to irritate her. This was the woman who made him fall head over heels only to send him packing without allowing him any say. She had wanted him to stay but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to think of the reason behind it.

"Mossad has been getting...bits and pieces that Eli David could quite possibly be alive." A shiver sprints up his spine charging goosebumps to prickle the flesh along his arms and legs. Eli David, _alive_? The room begins to spin as he weighs that thought across the balance beams. Eli David, alive...did Ziva know? His gaze shot up towards the screen, ignoring the sudden dizziness that floats the rocky shores. He needs more entail, anything that will help. Help, what? It's not like she needs his help, it's not like she is off chasing after a ghost of her father...right?

"Does Ziva know?" The name is like honey on his tongue, melting against the taste buds in a sensational heat as his ears ring prematurely almost if she had been speaking right next to him, breathing her satisfying carbon dioxide against his ears. His breath hitches in his throat, jamming his fist even deeper into the folds, trying his best to ward off the buzzing threatening explosion in drums that supplied him the ability to hear sound.

"That is the next point I was hoping to discuss with you." Elbaz's arms fold against her chest initiating her position as leader. "As you know, everyone has been lead to believe that Miss David is trying to move past the events of her life alone. She has been traveling from country to country and all in all she has appeared to be doing just that, but I have my doubts and I do not tell you this because I owe Eli but because I owe her in more ways than anyone could imagine." The woman pauses, allowing a swallow to pass the trenches of her throat, sanctioning a pass of thoughts sinking in.

He isn't surprised to hear of someone not believing Ziva's word, because he too questioned it more than once as he journeyed home and later sunk upon his couch just reflecting on all that she had said hoping there had been some sort of hint as to why she would leave him, yes him, after all they had been through just to face tomorrow alone. In the beginning it had made sense to him that she was probably on some secret assignment but as the days grew farther and farther apart the belief dissipated with the hope that she would come home. It makes sense, now, to what he is hearing from Elbaz who is another point of perspective of such a matter. If Ziva was on some sort of mission it would in no doubt strike claims of being for her father.

"I am not telling you all of this to disrupt whatever is happening in your life, Tony," The fact of her calling him by his first name doesn't go unnoticed by him. "But there are few people in this world who actually have a heart to care for such a woman. I am not saying you have to chase after her again, but I thought you should know and if you do decide to pull her back from whatever it is she is getting herself in to...just know you have Mossad to help." Elbaz clears her throat again, limbs falter to her sides as she gives him a nod. He can tell she is apprehensive of his decision, whatever that may be but he can't help to send her a nod of appreciation for the actions she has taken for informing him of Ziva.

"Thank you." He means it, oh how he means it. Most people wouldn't act upon impulse, but he can't stop himself from taking one step closer and parting his lips to ask the one question of his unfulfilled desire: "Do you have any idea where she is?" The smile she sends him bears all he needs.

. . . . .

Time is not wasted upon insignificant factors that will only slow his pace of finally crossing paths with his heart. Immediately after the closing of conversation he heads straight for his desk, wrenching the Star of David from its hold - the weight baring hope, a semblance of renewal, and the proposition that maybe, just maybe things will work out as they should fall.

He then heads to his car, feeling all too giddy like a young boy who is about to become a man. It doesn't even dawn on him about his plans until he is in his apartment, drawing fresh clothes that in no way stain Armani, just natural clothes of an everyday traveler who is about to go see the girl...He is about to go see Ziva and the last time he saw her she was sending him away.

A sigh heaves from the man as he lowers himself against the bed, tugging out the golden chain to stare upon her pendant in a flood of realization; she sent him away. She was on a mission and sent him away. What did that mean? Did she not trust him? No, she gave him the necklace - the necklace he had bought her and that she had cherished from the minute it clasped along her olive hued neck. Trust wasn't it then, not at all an option. So why did she send him away? A few more minutes of thought only to follow through without a single lead, this was a question only she could provide an answer to.

He turns back to his things, knowing a toothbrush and other necessities can be bought when the time is right. Anything with a plug is drawn out because he isn't nearly vacuous enough to charge up an electric bill and then it hits him again; is he really about to leave all of this behind? His movie collections, the people he worked with for more than a decade and once saw as a family, is he really about to give up the career that forever ago pumped adrenaline in his veins for Ziva David?

The smile carves his features, the rarity of such a thing not lost upon him as he balances the duffel on his shoulder and reaches for the fish bowl knowing that someone needs to feed his girls while he is away - whether that be forever or not - and he has only one thought on who that should be.

. . . . .

It wrenches of sawdust and bourbon although the smell is welcomed in it's own way. No surprise belongs to Tony as he chances the last step, feet bumping against the cemented floor, to find Gibbs working away on the stern of his new boat. The one he started only a few months back, it was coming along nicely the current senior field agent had to admit as his fingers tread along the wood work.

"Mossad messaged me." He begins, touching the tip of his index along the smooth surface of the work bench only for it to be followed by his middle roaming in front as Gibbs' attention became present with a short grunt. "Said Ziva could be in trouble." Hands fall short of the surface, embedding themselves into the pocket of his jeans as sea foamed irises lock with baby blues. "I know...I know I shouldn't go after her again, boss, but if she's in trouble -"

"It's not your place, DiNozzo." Gibbs reminds him, dropping his buck wood chisel onto the surface of the table and rising to his feet. "If it was she would ask you to be there." The older man issues as he reaches for a clean glass - still dusty from months without use - and grips the bottle of amber liquid.

"I know, boss. I know I shouldn't take after her again, but...but nothing feels right without her, I know it's only been a couple of months and that soon enough I won't think of her as often, but that's just it Gibbs...that thought terrifies me." He brings himself upon the fashioned stool, carved from calloused palms that have seen war in all of its various forms. "You told me not to be like you Gibbs and I think I get that now..." He scratches the back of his nape in a nervous grimace. "So long as she is alive, I can't leave her behind."

The boss man turns to face him, one of those infrequent smiles gracing his features as he tilts up the jar and drowns a few gulps. "That your interpretation?" Fear shoots through him quickly, perhaps that wasn't the conclusion his mentor had been getting at. Throat clears as he contemplates the words once more, words he has thought long and hard for since they were spoken before giving a slight nod of confirmation. Gibbs' brow rises just the slightest as if pondering his own words for a moment before bringing the glass to his lips once more, the amber liquid draining from in an almost single gulp. "Money, DiNozzo?"

"My grandma set me up an account when I was just starting out in Baltimore, she would transfer some of her retirement cash in there without my knowings. She didn't give me the account until I turned thirty-five, I haven't used any of it since so I think I'll just get most of it in cash." Palm rest across knee as he narrows his gaze slightly, ready to take whatever question Gibbs throws at him next.

"And if she doesn't want you there, DiNozzo?" The retired marine tightens his gaze as well, believing himself to have the upper hand in the battle between doing what the senior agent wants and what is needed to be done, the thing is Gibbs doesn't see them as being one in the same.

"She won't want me there." Tony chuckles, bouncing to his feet as he shakes his head. "She's Ziva. Ziva never wants anyone to help her, but I'll give it to her anyway because she doesn't deserve to be alone out there, doing whatever it is she is doing. She needs someone Gibbs whether that means protecting her or falling deeper in love with her," He tugs at the collar of his shirt from the confession that has been so skillfully avoided all this time. "I'm ready now, I was ready back then but she wasn't and maybe now...maybe now she is ready."

"You're just basing all of this on pure hope." Gibbs spat rolling his eyes for a fraction of a second before swallowing and running a palm through his gray tufts. "What are you going to tell the team?"

"Nothing...we haven't exactly been friendly these last couple of months. I know they are just hurting boss, but I was hoping that like all of the times before we could just lean on one another for support. Ya know?" Tony pauses to clear his throat and bear a shrug, leaning back on the arch of his feet before tossing his mentor a smile. "Guess I was wrong about that."

"It happens to the best of us." The older man offered a half smile as he poured himself another glass before taking his seat back at his work. "Goldfish upstairs?"

Tony grins as he straightens his coat, fastening the zipper he had long since forgot to cover. "Yep, the food is too and they like to be in bed before midnight so don't let them stay up watching movies too late, okay?" A smile brightens the leader's features as he glances up from spectacles that bare truth to his aging sight, his head tilts slightly as he nods at the end of their conversation neither man pleased with the way things have to end. They remain in silence for a long while, sharing the memories offered throughout the years before Tony fishes through his pocket and sets the badge against the table. "I thought you'd want to have it."

The older man stares at the object for a moment, tongue glistening over a chain of whites before he gives a shake of his head. "You have your gun? Gonna need it to get to her faster especially with airport security being the way it is now a days." An eye roll follows the words and a grateful look challenges Tony's expression.

"Thanks boss." He nods his thanks as the older man turns back to his work, the scraping of wood hitting note with the sound of his tennis shoes clanking against the stairs.

"Hey, Tony?" As the words exit the leader's mouth Tony's head jolts to him, brows furrowing in question. "Keep me updated and don't you dare come back home without her again or I will kick your ass."

"Love you too, Gibbs." The younger man sighed, hand striking out towards the ceiling in a tight fist. "Ooo rah." He bellowed, wrinkling his nose towards the way it sounded among his own tongue before tossing his father another smile and heading out the door.

. . . . .

It was luck for himself in being able to catch the very last seat on the direct flight for Australia, only twenty-one hours from being so close to her and only a couple of more from tracking her down. He couldn't hide his anxiousness, continuously shuffling in his seat causing several stares to turn his way but he couldn't careless because he was going to her.

The necklace tumbled from his pocket, the pendant twirling in the light of dawn which was slowly lucking into view causing the star to radiate in such a way. He heaved out a sigh as his thumb grazed the golden chain almost if the thing would supply him with some sort of luck in finding it's owner. He had spent four months searching for her before, but according to Elbaz she was still wandering the Australian desert and it would take her a few days to drag herself out meaning he had a while to prepare himself and search for any evidence on if she had ever booked a room.

His tongue grazed the corners of his mouth as he ran a hand along the muscles of his facial features, exhaustion suddenly taking its toll. He settled back, trying to gain comfort in the single chair as he lowered the necklace back into his pocket, thumb drawing a path along the precious gem as his eyes fell across the shifting hues of sunset, salmon, and indigo. "I'm coming, Ziva." He whispers to the window that clings to his warm breath before evaporating from sight with the closing of thin folds. "I'm coming, sweetcheeks."

* * *

I'm not really sure how I feel about this one, but I suppose that thought is in your hands now? I wish you all a pleasant day and next week. Stay safe and I promise you will get at least two chapters when I return!


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